


Zero

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-16
Updated: 2005-01-16
Packaged: 2018-12-27 14:19:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12082803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: â€œWhatâ€™s wrong?â€� I ask, and Justin just shakes his head tightly, walking into the kitchen and putting the coffee maker on.





	Zero

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

“What’s wrong?” I ask, and Justin just shakes his head tightly, walking into the kitchen and putting the coffee maker on.   
He’s hardly said a word all the way home, and that’s just so not him. 

It’s Saturday night…or Sunday morning by now…and as usual we went to Babylon. Somewhere around midnight I came back from the backroom and Justin was on his way out with a really gorgeous trick. I winked and that was the last time I saw him. Until it was about four and when I decided to head home I found him standing shivering in front of the corvette, obviously waiting for me. 

Usually I can’t get him to shut up.   
But not today.   
Today, I can’t get him to talk. 

He was silent on our way home, just staring out the window.  
And he still is. 

So, I know SOMETHING happened; now I just have to find out what. 

I could come straight out and ask, but somehow, the mood he’s in, I don’t think that’s gonna work. 

Justin walks past me, heading toward the bedroom, shrugging off his sweater and slinging it on the floor. 

“Hey,” I say reproachfully, picking it up and folding it carefully. I bought him this sweater. It’s blue. Cobalt blue. Like Justin’s eyes. 

I know that because the sales girl mentioned it several times. Mostly as she gazed longingly at a completely oblivious Justin. 

I trail along after him, seeing clothes lying in his wake, and I gather them up as I go, wondering what the hell he thinks he’s doing. I think Anita must have sold him something that short-circuited his brain.

He knows I HATE mess. Can’t stand it. The whole loft is spotless. …   
and most importantly, I am not his goddamn maid. 

When I eventually get to the bedroom, I can hear the shower running, so I pile his neatly folded clothes on the edge of the bed. 

I head back to the kitchen, just in time to switch off the coffee maker. Justin, as usual, has made it light and watery.   
I don’t know how the hell he drinks this stuff. But it’s how he likes it, and coming between Justin and his coffee is just unwise, so I gave it up long ago. Better to admit defeat and stay alive. 

I pour him a cup, adding a splash of milk and two sugars. May as well fix up the sweet tooth at the same time.   
But, twenty minutes later, the water in the shower is still running, and his coffee is far too cold to drink.   
Okay, this is just too strange now. 

I throw the coffee down the sink, and set the cup on the bench. 

“Justin?” I yell, making my way toward the bathroom.   
He doesn’t answer, and I suddenly get a very bad feeling about all of this. 

This really isn’t like him. 

“Hey, Justin?” I call, opening the bathroom door just a crack.   
The mirror is all steamed up, and so is the shower door, I can’t see a thing in there. 

I push the bathroom door all the way open, stepping into the misty room, surprised at how warm it is. Justin must have the water hot. 

I tap gently on the glass of the shower door, not wanting to give him a fright, then open it. 

Justin’s standing under the spray, facing away from me, leaning against the wall, with his head bent down. His skin has already turned a deep shade of pink from the heat of the water, and I can see little rivulets running down his back, across his hips and buttocks, before making their way down his legs. Any other day, the sight of that would be enough to make me strip off and dive in there with him, but today, there’s something else that makes my blood run cold.   
There are bruises. 

Bruises that look an awful lot like finger marks. I can see them on his biceps and hips. 

And I know, I KNOW, I didn’t put them there. 

“Justin?” I say, much more gently this time, reaching a hand out to lightly touch his shoulder. 

He jumps, turning around to look at me with wide eyes. I’ve startled him, and he looks down dazedly at where my hand has slid round his body, ending up against his chest.   
I remove it slowly, not really sure why, but somehow, right now, that simple touch seems… invasive. 

And I get the terrible feeling he’s already had too much invasive shit happen to him today. 

“You okay?” I ask, looking at his face, not wanting to make a big deal of something he obviously didn’t want me to see.   
Not yet anyway. 

“Yeah… just, you know, tired,” he answers, turning and stretching up to finally turn off the water. 

When he does, I just can’t help it. I stare in horrified fascination at his body. 

I don’t think he even realises yet, but there’s a bruise on his thigh. 

Right on the inside of his thigh.   
Right where I would normally press my hand to get him to spread those beautiful legs wide for me. 

He’s watching me, and his eyes follow mine down, his upper body leaning forward slightly, so that he’s looking at the same thing I am. He stares for long seconds, before looking up, his face suddenly gone blank.   
I’m scared. 

Four hours.   
I’m sure it was four hours that I didn’t see him at Babylon.   
What can happen in four hours?   
I mean… something must have happened, but… surely nothing like… like…   
FUCK.   
Maybe it wasn’t four hours. Maybe it was only three and a half. Fuck, even three and a half hours would be long enough. Get a grip, Kinney!

Long enough to make him… force him…?   
FUCK FUCK FUCK. 

“Brian?” I hear him say quietly, his voice sounding tired and shaky.   
“Yeah, I’m here. Just let me… I need to get you a towel,” I say, feeling my hand tremble as I reach behind me, snaring one off the rail. 

I still can’t look away from that bruise.   
I want to. I really do.   
But it’s on Justin’s body. His body that I know so well. His body that’s so precious to me.   
And someone else has left that fucking mark on his beautiful, precious body. 

I want to scream at him to tell me. Tell me what happened. Tell me who did this. When? How?   
Because I’m going to kill him.   
I’m going to hunt him down, find out where he lives, and make him wish he’d never been born. 

FUCK.   
Justin takes the towel from my loose fingers, scrubbing it over his skin before wrapping it around his waist, finally covering that horrible, purplish mark.   
And at last, I can look up. I can let myself look away from it.   
His face is still a blank mask. 

I hate when he does this. I used to be able to read him like a book. He was so open, everything just… out there.   
But now he’s learnt to be more like me. And he hides behind that damn mask when he wants to keep things from me. I always get it out of him in the end, but it takes time.   
And I don’t want to waste time, not today. 

Because as soon as he gives me a name, or a description, I’m out of here. I’m going to hunt that son of a bitch that did this down.   
Then, I’ll cut out his heart. Slowly. Making sure he feels every second of it. 

Justin walks out of the bathroom, into the bedroom, staring with horror at the pile of clothes I’ve left, as if they’re contaminated by something too awful to name. 

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out he doesn’t ever want to put them back on, and I shudder as I think of why that might be. I walk around him, grabbing the blanket from the bed and cuddle him in the warmth’s. 

He looks at me with a pathetically grateful expression, as if I’ve just done him this huge favour, and suddenly, I want to be sick. 

Someone hurt Justin.  
Again. And I wasn’t there…or I was too late…or just too fucking ignorant…or too proud…to go and look for him.

He sighs deeply, pulling the covers over his body.   
I’m so afraid to ask. I know I need to. I even know he’ll tell me. Because, in the end, he tells me everything. But I’m afraid. 

Oh God, I have to know.   
“Justin? What happened?” I ask as gently as I can, sitting down next to him on the bed. 

He shakes his head, reaching out one hand toward me, and I take his fingers in mine. He’s shaking slightly, so I put both of my hands around his, trying to help stop the tremors, and warm his cold flesh at the same time. I’m shocked at how cool his body is, when his skin is still pink from the heat of the shower. 

“There were three of them,” he finally says, his voice so quiet I can barely hear him. “Two of them grabbed me… held me… while the other,” he chokes out, before his voice cracks with emotion.   
No. No, no, no. 

This can’t be right. It can’t be.   
I hear the sharp intake of my own breath, and the ragged sobbing sound that’s slipping from Justin’s throat.   
I grab him, pulling him up so that he’s held tightly against my body, his face pressed into the hollow of my shoulder.   
I’ve seen Justin take so much shit before. 

He’s been bashed, abandoned by his father, a fucking therapy to get his ability to draw back…he survived me…and through it all, Justin’s never been broken.   
He’s cracked. He’s had bad times. But he’s never been broken. 

I hold him tightly; silently praying to make that true this time as well. Please, I beg, please, don’t let this be the thing that crushes his spirit. 

After a short time, I realise he’s not actually crying. There are no tears. But he’s gasping for breath, his body shaking hard in my arms, and I think it’s probably shock more than anything. He’s definitely in shock, and I really need to do something about it. 

I start to loosen my grip around his shoulders, wanting to go get him another blanket and a sweet drink, something to stop his body shivering convulsively like it is. But he tightens his arm around my neck, burrowing deeper into my body, and I think, maybe, all that other stuff can wait. 

For now, Justin needs me.   
And strangely enough, though nothing happened to me, I need him just as badly. 

When he finally pulls away, I let him go, but keep hold of his hand. I want him to know I’m here. That I’m not going anywhere. 

“They didn’t… they tried, but I fought… they only got…” he stumbles over the words, his voice empty and hollow.   
Does he mean they didn’t…they didn’t manage to…? Oh Christ… I can’t even think the word. I just don’t want that word and Justin’s name occupying the same space in my head. But I HAVE to know. 

“Justin, did they force you? Did they make you… are you hurt?” I ask pathetically, ashamed with myself for not asking the one question I really need answered. 

It’s easy.   
Did they rape you? There. That’s it. Did they rape you?   
Four words. Four of the simplest, single syllable words there are. No confusion. No misunderstanding. It’s a straightforward question, completely devoid of any chance of misunderstanding or hidden meaning. 

And I just CAN’T ask him, because I’m a coward who’s deathly afraid of the answer.   
I’m so afraid of what being raped by another man could do to Justin. 

I’ll help any way I can, do anything I can to make it easier for him, but I’ve seen the way people hide their real emotions when this type of thing happens. The thought that Justin might shut me out, try to deal with this alone, something I’ve definitely know him to do in the past, is terrifying. 

Somehow, the very thought of hearing him say the words, is loaded with dread. I know it would never change how I feel about him. But if Justin has been violated in such a terrible way, there’s a very real possibility it’s going to change how he feels about himself. 

This time, no matter how difficult, I’ll find the right words. If it kills me, I won’t lose Justin, not again.   
When I finally come back to myself, I can see Justin shaking his head, his eyes wide with horror.   
“No… oh no… I’m sorry, Brian, I’m sorry… it wasn’t… no, they didn’t,” he finally gets out. 

I feel almost faint with relief, and press my palm against my forehead for a brief moment, trying to get myself under control. I can’t fall apart now, because this isn’t about me. 

It’s about Justin. Justin who’s obviously been scared badly.   
But it wasn’t rape. It wasn’t that, and I feel a huge amount of the tension that’s been silently gathering in my body, release. 

“That’s… that’s good,” I manage, my voice shaking.   
He’s watching my face now, and I know he’s seeing everything I’m feeling. I try and stay composed, wanting to keep it all together, but it’s not easy. 

“What did happen?” I eventually ask. 

“It was… well…I’ve had worse…I’m just being stupid,” he shrugs, trying to pass it off, his face slipping back into that mask I hate so much. 

I let my hand move to his thigh; squeezing gently against the bruise I know is there.   
He flinches slightly, and I know he hates the reminder, but I need him to talk to me. 

“It’s not stupid. Someone hurt you. Someone put their hands on your body, and they tried to do things you didn’t want them to. How does any of that make you stupid?” I ask with the appearance of calm, feeling my stomach churn on the inside. 

He starts to speak slowly, haltingly, and I listen carefully to every word. Usually, when he’s giving me a long explanation about something, I tune out about half of what he says. But this time, I memorise every word, because I want them burned indelibly into my mind.

I want to remember every detail so I can find those sons of bitches and make them pay.   
After I had gone to the backroom, he had started looking for a trick as well and found this really cute guy. Apparently they started talking and turns out that this guy owns a Audi TT, which apparently is Justin’s favoured car at the moment. He invites Justin for a ride and that’s where they were hading when I saw them leave Babylon. 

The car is a few blocks from Babylon and Liberty Ave. When they went into the alleyway, three guys were waiting in the shadows. Three very big guys. 

While Mr Audi could make a run for it. Justin was trapped. One grabbed his arms, the other tripping him over by taking his legs out from underneath him. They muttered filthy comments to him, words he won’t repeat to me, but I get the message clear enough. He remembers one sentence very clearly, and my blood boils when he repeats it, the words sounding foreign and filthy coming out of his mouth. 

“Dirty faggots like you don’t get to hang out where our kids go to bible study, we’re gonna teach you a lesson, queer boy.”   
He thinks they said it was going to be a lesson he’d never forget, but he can’t be sure. 

When one of them grabbed his thighs and tried to unzip his jeans, Justin fought for all he was worth, until he managed to get a leg free. Thank God, it was enough. 

He kicked the biggest guy in the nuts, making him double over in pain, and release the other leg. With both feet on the ground, Justin used all that combat training Cody provided him with, and twisted out of their grip.   
Then, he did the only thing he could think of.   
He ran.   
As fast as his legs could carry him, because he knew, three against one, as big as they were, he wasn’t going to get a second chance. 

He ran back to Babylon, and headed straight for the car. He just waited there, didn’t even try to find me…just waited at the damn car for at least two fucking hours. Didn’t even say a word to me… sat there, and waited for me to drive us home. 

 

And here we are now.   
He looks pale and shaky, but that nasty blank mask is gone, and there’s real emotion in its place. I figure, despite his pallor and the way he’s shivering again, that’s got to be for the best. 

“So, all they managed,” I say, feeling my guts twist at the thought of what they could have done, “is to bruise you up a bit? Shove you around and scare the crap out of you? You’re sure they didn’t do anything else?” 

“No, Brian, they didn’t do anything else,” he answers, staring straight into my eyes, and I can see he’s telling me the truth.   
I’m so grateful I actually feel tears start to form. 

The thought of how badly they could have hurt him, the things they could have done to him, makes me feel physically ill. And I’m just so fucking relieved he got away, I feel like crying. 

“Oh, Brian,” he says, his voice sad and regretful, “I’m sorry.”   
“No, I’m… I’m not… just… I need to get you another blanket,” I finish, heaving myself up from the bed and hurrying out of the room. 

I take a brief second to pull myself together, before returning to the bedroom.  
By the time I get back, he’s sitting with his legs crossed, Indian style, a blanket over his small shoulders.   
I drape the other blanket over his lap, wrapping it around him tightly, so that he’s nice and warm. 

He actually looks a little better, his skin getting back some of its usual colour. But I have a horrible feeling my next words are going to smack him right back to where he was.   
I sit next to him on the bed, stretching my legs out in front of me. 

I sneak my hand under his blanket, searching for and finding his. I hold on tight, praying he’s already thought about what I’m about to say. 

“Justin, you know you have to go to the police. You need to report this.”   
His fingers tighten around mine, but he doesn’t flinch or turn away from me in anger, which is better than I expected.   
“I know,” he says tiredly. 

 

He has to tell this whole disgusting story to a complete stranger, who just happens to be a police officer. And he has to hope, just hope, that deep inside, that officer doesn’t secretly feel the same way those bastards who did this to him do. 

He has to do that right now.   
He might have to give evidence in a courtroom, face the perverted, sick thugs who did this to him, and tell a whole fucking roomful of complete strangers the same story, all over again. 

I fucking hate this!   
“I’ll get our coats,” is the only thing I actually say aloud, gently pulling my hand away from his.   
I wait by the door, and he finally emerges, the clothes he was wearing earlier tucked under his arm. Trust Justin to think of that, because of course the police are going to want them. Who knows what type of evidence they might be hiding. 

He walks over silently; taking his jacket from the closet, handing me the clothes while he pulls it around his body, zipping it closed.   
“You know, you are fucking brave, Justin Taylor.” I can see the little smile on his face as he takes my hand in his.  
“Come on, let’s go,” he says softly. 

It’s a fairly long drive and my head is buzzing. Fuck! I know that this is not my fault.. but still…I just feel ashamed.   
Ashamed because while my partner nearly got raped, I was standing in the backroom of Babylon getting my cock sucked. Ashamed because I know that if it wasn’t for me, Justin wouldn’t have gone tricking in first place. Ashamed because it is just normal for us to not look after each other…at least in public. And all that because Brian Kinney is the king of Liberty Avenue, who doesn’t do love and doesn’t do relationships. I know that something like this could have happened any other time, during the day or when he comes back late from work… but it didn’t. I know that I am not responsible for him and I know that he can take care of himself…it’s just that… we went to Babylon…together. I hadn’t seen him for four hours and went on oblivious…fucking. 

The worst part is, that Justin doesn’t even question me. He won’t ask if I was looking for him…because he knows the answer. Fuck, was that the reason why he didn’t come to look for me either? Because he knew that I would have brushed him off, if he had asked me to go home earlier? Fuck! Fuck...he’s just going to accept it, and let me get away with it, and he’s going to keep right on loving me anyway. 

When we finally get to the station we have to wait for a detective. After good ten minutes Justin is called into an office, I am asked to wait. 

He takes a step forward and leans his forehead against mine for long seconds, his eyes intense and serious. Cobalt blue. The most beautiful colour I’ve ever seen. 

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he says quietly, before lifting his head away from mine. Before I have a chance to say anything in return, he’s already walking to the door.   
He’s gone for what seems like hours.   
I can’t imagine what’s taking so long. 

Surely filling out a report doesn’t take this long?   
At 10 am we finally get out. He looks tired, but considering where he’s just been, that’s no surprise. 

We are silent all the way home and when the loft door closes behind us I just hug him. His arms slip around me, so that we’re embracing each other tightly, and I feel the strength of his hands, the warmth of his chest pressing into mine. 

He’s such a good man.   
Not perfect, oh no.   
He’s temperamental, stubborn, and his sense for clothing and music are crap. He drives me mad half the time, gets pissy over the stupidest things, and oh, did I mention he’s a slob?   
But he’s honest, and kind, and he always tries to do the right thing. 

He always moves forward and never gives up…not matter what’s thrown in his way.  
And I just can’t, for the life of me, understand how someone could want to hurt him.   
There are plenty of gay men out there, can’t those homophobic assholes pick someone else for a change?  
“Let’s sit down,” he whispers against my ear, interrupting my thoughts, “I’ll tell you what happened.” 

We make our way to the couch, and he sits so close to me I can feel the heat coming off his body. He grasps my hand tightly in his before beginning to speak.   
“I gave a statement, and the officer was very nice,” he says smiling reassuringly. 

See, a good man. Already trying to look after me, when he’s the one who’s having a shit of a day.   
“They try to find the other guy…he is a witness,” he says, and I jerk at that piece of information.   
Goddamn son of a… 

“She said, Officer Berkley I mean, she said they’d had a similar complaint to mine before, just a few weeks ago. But they haven’t been able to find anyone who fits the description she was given in town. She even thinks those guys might be from out of town… they might just hang around, trying to find someone to victimise,” he frowns, “actually, she didn’t seem all that hopeful they’d catch anyone.” 

“So…what happens now?” I ask, frowning as well, because it infuriates me to think they’re just going to get away with it….again! 

“Well, they’ll investigate and, if they need me again, they’ll call. In fact, she promised to call even if they don’t find anything. She was very nice, Brian, understanding, helpful…very competent.” 

I sense he’s building up to something here, and I’m sure it’s something I’m not going to like. 

“ For the first time I remembered why I joined Cody and the Pink Poss…”

I take a deep breath…and interrupt him before he can finish that thought  
”I know that you want to kick those assholes Justin. It’s perfectly normal, but you said yourself that your little team had gone too far. Promise me. Give me your solemn word that you will NEVER go back to them. I need you to do that for me.” 

I know it stinks.   
I know he has a right to go wherever he wants, to do whatever he wants. And by asking him to do this, I’m actually asking him to give those rights away. In fact, when I think about what I’m saying, I realise I’m letting them win.   
But I don’t care.   
As long as he’s safe, I don’t give a flying fuck about any of that. I can live with letting them win that much, to keep him here with me. Justin shakes his head, probably about to give me a list of reasons why he SHOULD go after them. He looks into my eyes for a moment and finally agrees.

“Okay,” he says, nodding his head, “You have to promise me something as well.”   
I nod slowly.  
“I know you feel guilty. I saw your face. You think if you’d been there, it would never have happened. I know you still remember the bashing…which you were not responsible for either…but, Brian,” he says pleadingly, “it did happen, and it could have happened anywhere. Don’t blame yourself in any way, ok?” 

Oh hell.   
I look at his face, thinking about how much he means to me, how much they scared him, those purple marks on his body.   
But this isn’t about me. It’s about Justin, and what he needs. And I’ll do whatever he wants, because I’m just so thankful to have him here, with me, in one piece. So whatever he needs is what I’ll give. 

I kiss him again, softly, being careful to keep things gentle, because I remember how he was earlier, sitting on that bed, shaking and gasping for breath. When I pull back, he’s smiling, his lips curved into an expression of love and tenderness that always makes me smile back. 

“You hungry?” I ask, thinking about how many hours have slipped by since we last ate. 

“Starving.” 

“Takeout? Chinese?” 

“Mmm… sounds good,” he answers, relaxing back into the couch. 

I order all of his favorites, knowing we’ll never get through that much food, but who cares. At least he can pick what he wants this way. 

He’s half asleep by the time the delivery boy arrives, but I guess he really is hungry, because he wakes up, and starts wolfing it down straight from the carton, using those cheap, plastic chopsticks they give you. I shrug, sitting beside him on the couch, doing the same. 

I keep looking at him, just seeing Justin, the man I live with for more than five years now.   
We finish our dinner and start talking about this and that.   
Finally we end up talking about the comic.

“Maybe JT should develop super powers in telepathy too,” he decides, getting to his feet and starting to clear away the cartons from the table, “I am much smarter than you, you know.” 

Cocky little shit. He’s positively smirking as he puts the leftovers in the fridge. 

“Well if you’re so smart, why don’t you tell me what I’m thinking right now,” I yell out in challenge. 

He wanders back into the living room, resting his socked feet on the coffee table, and making himself comfortable before answering. 

“Well…I’m sure,” he says, rubbing his fingers against his temples, like some sort of kooky fortune teller, “ah, yes, that’s it. You’re thinking you really should go and get Justin some of that double chocolate ice cream that’s in the freezer...annnd…wait… there’s more… oh yeah, you’re definitely going to put some of that gooey caramel sauce on top.” 

He looks over at me in triumph, grinning.   
I shake my head in defeat and head into the kitchen to get us both a bowl of ice cream, but leave the gooey caramel crap off of mine. It’s so sweet it makes saccharine seem sour, and I can’t stand it. Justin loves it though, and he does obscene things to his spoon as he sucks it off, and swirls it around his mouth. 

I swear ice cream with gooey sauce of any kind, in combination with Justin, is the best thing ever. But they really do need an ‘adults-only’ warning attached. It’s completely pornographic and it’s the only reason I buy the stuff.   
When he’s finished eating, I take the bowls out and rinse them off, while he puts a CD in the player. When I come back, the volume is turned down low, and I hear a quiet voice of drifting out of the speakers. 

Ah, seems Justin’s feeling a bit wistful. He only ever plays this when something’s bothering him, and I know he’s got plenty to feel that way about today. He seems okay, much more himself than he was earlier, but I’m still worried about him. 

I slip down into the cushions, and Justin stretches out, so that his head is resting in my lap, and he’s looking straight up at my face. He smiles, before letting his eyes slip closed and turning his head slightly, so that he’s breathing into my stomach. 

I run my fingers over his forehead and through his hair, just enjoying the peace of the day. His breathing is deep and even, but I know he’s not asleep, because every so often, he opens his eyes to look up at me. 

“Justin” I ask eventually, my voice soft and low. 

“Mmm?” 

“If there’s anything you wanna talk about, you know I’m here.” 

He sighs and opens his eyes, and this time I smile, so that he understands I want to be here for him. He reaches up and takes my hand off his head, carrying it down to his chest, and keeping hold of it. When he speaks, his voice is serious and calm. 

“I think it was more the shock than anything. I’ve been through much worse than that before. But I never expected it to happen than, not when I was out with a trick. I just wasn’t… prepared… I was too relaxed,” he pauses, thinking, “Did something like this ever happen to you?” 

I wait for a few seconds, just in case there’s something else he wants to say, but he remains silent, so I think carefully before speaking. 

“Yeah, once. The guy handcuffed me and got a little…carried away. It wasn’t serious…but it scared the shit out of me. You can’t ever be prepared for something like that.” 

I pause, stroking his hair for a few seconds before continuing.   
He nods, and I know he does understand what I’m saying. We’ll always be careful, but you can’t spend every waking hour looking over your shoulder. What kind of life would that be? 

He lets me rub my hand over his chest, just stroking him softly, like a cat. In fact, his eyes darken slightly while I do it, and a small smile lights up his face. 

“I’m just sorry about the sweater,” he murmurs after a while, his voice regretful, and I suddenly realise he came home without it. The police must have kept everything. 

“I’ll get you another one,” I say quietly, thinking I might try black this time. Black seems to really do something for him, give him this mysterious glow, and it won’t remind either of us about today. Yup, black it’s going to be. 

“That’ll be nice,” he murmurs, the smile getting bigger, cheekier. “Are we going to the same place? Because I really liked that shop assistant last time.” 

“Yeah, she seemed to like you quite a bit as well,” I answer dryly.

“What do you mean?” 

Justin would never recognize girls flirting with him. Even when they realize that he is gay, I think some straight woman just have this weird goal to turn all of us straight one day. 

“No,” I say in mock amazement, “the drooling and fawning didn’t give it away?” 

He laughs for the first time today, and I feel my heart lift at the sound. I think he’s actually going to be okay. 

“Oh, I don’t think she drooled, Brian. She was just being nice.” 

“Yeah, right,” I laugh. 

He laughs again, and I shift a little under him. He looks at me for a long moment than he slides off the couch, crawling around until he’s kneeling between my legs. 

“I can be nice, too,” he says in his smuttiest, dirtiest bedroom voice, unzipping my jeans and pulling out my dick at the same time. 

The sound of his voice saying those words, like that, while we’re here, doing this, makes me groan.   
I try to pull myself together, just for a few seconds, to check that he’s okay before we get into it. But he bends over, taking my dick in his mouth and running his tongue around, and I’m gone. 

His hands pull on my hips, tugging me lower, so that he can yank my jeans and underwear down, leaving my balls hanging in thin air. He takes advantage of that, sucking one into his mouth, and rolling it over his tongue. 

“Oh God,” I pant, watching him work my cock in his hand, while he keeps sucking on my ball. It feels so good, he’s just so goddamn good at it, and I writhe against the cushions, pushing my dick up into his hand. 

Than he sinks his head down and sucks my dick to the back of his throat, using his teeth just a little, making it so good I hear myself moaning his name over and over, like it’s some holy mantra. 

“Mmm,” he sighs around my flesh, the vibrations rocketing straight threw my body. 

I rest a hand on his head, and he looks up, so that his eyes and mine are locked. His are so dark now they look almost purple, and his face is flushed with blood. His lips are stretched around my cock, and he’s stroking my balls with his fingers, and I know it can’t last. 

“Ahh,” I groan as the first jet of come pulses out of me, and into Justin’s mouth. 

He swallows, sucking long and hard on my dick, still massaging my balls. The next spurt seems to come from deeper down in my body, and my hips jerk up, pushing me deep into his mouth, as he swallows again. 

“Justin… God, Justin,” I whisper, feeling his mouth tighten around me. 

I can’t keep my eyes open any more, and they slip closed as he squeezes my balls just a bit harder. The action forces a final, powerful spasm of my cock that fires deep into his throat. 

God, I love this. He’s a master at giving head, and he loves to do it. He gets a real kick out of being in control, while I’m reduced to a quivering mess, and tonight is no exception.   
When I finally get my breath back, I feel him licking my rapidly shrinking cock clean. It’s so gentle, his tongue so soft and smooth against my skin, and I shudder repeatedly, until he finally stops. 

“There,” he says, sounding satisfied, “I think I’m done.” 

“I know I am,” I groan, feeling wiped out. 

He laughs, and climbs to his feet, reaching out to help me stand up. I yank my clothes up high enough to walk, and follow him through to the bedroom. I strip off quickly, watching as he takes his time, not rushing, but not dragging it out either. When his hips and lower body come into view, I see that bruise on the inside of his thigh again, and a surge of rage goes through me.   
How could they?   
How could they do that to him? 

“Don’t,” he says warningly, “I don’t want them in this room. Not here.” 

I nod, trying to let the rage slip away, concentrating on Justin instead.   
There’s really nothing quite like seeing him naked. He has the most incredibly flawless skin I’ve ever seen, stretched over taut, little muscles and a strong, lean frame. Justin always manages to dress in clothes two sizes too big, but when you get under them, he’s just gorgeous. 

His dick is already half hard, hanging between his thighs, and suddenly I have no trouble putting those bigoted morons out of my mind. Why think about them, when I have this in front of me? 

I pat the bed, and he slides onto it, so that he’s stretched out next to me, on his side, looking into my face. 

“What do you want?” I ask quietly, needing to know, because I’d like to make this perfect for him. 

“You,” he whispers, “I want you.” 

I push him gently, so that he collapses onto his back, and then I climb on top of him. We’re pressed chest to chest, my thighs outside his hips, and I reach a hand up to stroke through his hair, feeling a rush flow through me. 

I need to make this slow, because it’s going to be a while before I’m ready again, but I don’t think it’s going to be a hardship. I can happily spend hours mapping Justin’s flesh, tracing every part of his body over and over. 

I start kissing him softly, trailing my tongue around the shape of his lips, but never pushing inside. I love to tease him, and eventually he gets so desperate for more, he yanks my head down, plunging his tongue past my teeth. I suck gently on it, letting him fuck my mouth for a while, before pulling back, leaving him gasping for air. 

I kiss his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids. He sighs, letting his hand slip away from my head, to rest by his side. It’s his way of telling me I have free reign, and I slide down a bit, so that my mouth is hovering over his chest. 

I lick along his breastbone, until my tongue reaches his nipple, which I flick back and forth rapidly. I repeat the process on both sides, many times, and he twists his hands in the bed sheets, probably dying to grab my head and force it against his body. 

I slide down again, until my face is right above his navel, and I decide it’s time to lighten things up a bit, before he gets too excited. I want him to come with me inside him, and the way he’s responding; he’s going to get there a hell of a lot quicker than I am. 

I lean my face down into his navel, first licking over it, then blowing a huge raspberry into his skin, making him laugh and try to squirm away from me. I hold his hips still, doing it over and over, until he bats his hand against the side of my head. 

“Cut it out,” he says, giggling. 

I lift up a bit and see him grinning down at me, his eyes full of love and laughter. I stick my tongue out at him, and he does it back, before flopping back into the pillows with a moan. 

His hands have untwisted a bit from the covers, and his body’s slightly more relaxed now, so I slide back up, until my face is level with his, and start all over again. 

He lets me kiss him long and slow this time, our tongues twisting and twining around each other. I suck his lower lip, biting it gently between my teeth and making him moan. His eyes are closed, and I lift my head up, waiting for him to open them. 

“Hi there,” I whisper, when he finally does. 

“Hi,” he murmurs back. 

I reach over, grabbing the lube from where I left it last night, under my pillow. 

“Mmm,” Justin sighs, blinking slowly, smiling in approval at this new turn of events. 

I roll off him, pulling on his hip, so that we’re lying face to face, on our sides. When my fingers are nice and slick, I reach down his body, first caressing his dick, then sliding my hand down between his ass cheeks. He lifts one leg on top of mine, and I watch his eyes as I press into him, seeing the way they darken even more, and slide closed in pleasure.   
I wriggle my finger a bit, twisting my hand until I find his prostate, massaging firmly against it. 

“Ohhh…s’good,” he sighs, his body shuddering against mine.   
I kiss him deeply, rubbing against his prostate at the same time, and he moans into my mouth as I sink my tongue in and out, using the same rhythm as my finger. I know how much he likes the slowness of this, the way it makes his body burn with want and need. 

I push another finger in, hearing him gasp, feeling his ass tighten around the intrusion. I wait for what seems like forever, until he starts rocking back on my hand, wanting more. 

I start the same process again, kissing and fucking him at the same time. His breathing is fast and rapid now, his neck and face flushed with heat. His tongue is curling around mine, trying to make me kiss him harder, but I refuse to be hurried, and he moans in frustration. 

My dick is rigid again, and when I can’t wait anymore, I wrench my mouth away from his, grabbing a condom. I pull away from him slightly, trying to get him to turn onto his stomach, but Justin resists my hand on his shoulder, and I look at him in question. 

He wastes no time shoving me onto my back and straddling my hips, his cock red and jutting out from between his legs. His face is tight and needy, and I hold my dick steady as he sinks down on it, until my balls are resting against his ass. I reach for his cock, but he grabs my hand, shaking his head jerkily. 

“No… too close,” he gasps desperately. 

“Come here then,” I whisper, holding my arms up so he can lie against my chest, before wrapping them around his body. I rub circles over his back, feeling the sweat that’s gathered there cool on his skin. 

His body is heavy on top of me, his cock pressing into my stomach, his breathing raspy and tight. His ass is stretched around my dick, and I can feel every tiny move he makes.   
When he calms down a little, I match my breathing to his, so that we’re completely synchronised. It’s peaceful and intimate, and I can feel our hearts thumping to almost the same beat as well. 

To me, this is perfection. It feels like we’re one and the same person, his body joined to mine, exactly in rhythm with mine. I could lie here for hours, just feeling him against me. 

After a while, he pushes up from my chest, so that he’s sitting on top of my hips again. Then he starts to use his thighs, rising up and down on my cock, so that he’s being fucked, but he’s completely in control of everything that’s happening. 

I rest my elbows against the bed, bending my forearms up, so that he can grab my hands, and use them for leverage. He does, his fingers wrapping around mine so tightly it hurts. 

“Mmm… Brian,” he sighs, his eyes filled with love. 

“Good?” I whisper, making it more a question than a statement. 

He moans in reply, nodding his head and sinking down on my cock again. 

“More?” I ask softly. 

He nods again, biting his bottom lip, and letting his eyes slip closed.   
I release one of his hands, reaching for his cock, and masturbating him slowly, matching my movements to the way he’s fucking himself on my body. He shudders and groans, the sound pained and filled with need. I bend my legs, so that when he sinks down the next time, I can push my hips up, forcing myself deep into his body. 

His eyes snap open, his ass tightens around my dick, and now it’s my turn to groan. 

“Oh,” he says, sounding startled, “oh fuck… fuck.” 

The first pulse of his cock catches both of us by surprise, and it sprays across my chest, some of it reaching my chin. I quickly lift my upper body, so that I’m half sitting, trapping him between my legs against his ass, and my chest in front of him. 

He rests back against my legs, and releases the hand he’s been leaning on. I use the freedom to lift it to his chest, twisting his nipple hard, and making him writhe in my lap. 

“Arrggh,” he moans, his dick pulsing in my hand again, spraying another thick, white streak across both of us.   
“Oh yeah,” I moan, looking down to watch, loving the way his cock jerks and shoots come all over me, loving the feel of its slickness against my skin. His dick throbs in my fingers, less powerfully, but still enough to make his ass clamp around my cock, starting the first spasm in my own body. 

Justin moans and sinks down, so that I’m as deep inside him as I can get, flooding the condom with ribbons of come. It’s incredible, the heat and tightness wrapped so perfectly around my dick, it’s like his body was made just for me.   
He leans forward and kisses me for a long time, my body still shuddering underneath his. He feels so nice I reach up, pulling him down so that he’s pressed against me, smearing his come between our bodies. We must be a mess, but who gives a fuck. 

I let my legs slip down, relaxing into the bed, letting Justin have his wicked way with me. After all, who am I to deny him what he wants? As he so recently pointed out, he is much smarter than me, and it wouldn’t seem right to question him now. 

“You okay?” I ask softly, knowing the answer already, but wanting to hear him say it anyway. 

“I’m… fantastic,” he sighs, his eyes resting on my face. 

“You sure are,” I say in agreement, making him laugh again. 

“Thanks,” he whispers, kissing me softly. 

“You’re more than welcome,” I reply, wrapping him in a tight hug. 

“So… tomorrow… maybe we can go see my favourite shop assistant?” he asks, his voice quiet and soft next to my ear. 

“Why not,” I reply, stroking his back. “In fact, why don’t we make a day of it, we could rescue Gus from the munchers and go shopping, if you want to?” 

He lifts up slightly, so he can look at my face. 

“Why, Brian, are you actually volunteering to come along to one of those overcrowded malls?” 

I shrug my shoulders in reply, and watch him consider the idea for a few seconds. 

“Nah,” he says eventually, shaking his head, “why don’t we just spend the day here, at home with Gus.” 

“Justin, if you’re worried about anythi…” I get out, before he cuts me off with a kiss. 

When he finally releases my lips, I keep watching carefully, trying to see if he’s still freaked out by what happened earlier. 

“I’m not worried,” he says easily, “I just think I’d like to stay home… spend the day with you and little you. Just the three of us, I like that.” 

There’s no hidden meaning in his words, his face and eyes clear and guileless as he answers.   
I pull him back down, wrapping my leg around his, holding him close and feeling him breathe against my neck. 

“Sure, I like that, too.” 

“Yeah,” he whispers, “I know.” 

And I’m so glad he’s here with me, I keep holding him until we are both boneless and on the edge of sleep. Then I roll us over, so that his face is pressing against my neck, his body still tucked tightly against my own. 

“Night, Brian,” he slurs against my skin, his voice tired and dreamy. 

“Night, Justin,” I answer, feeling him drift away, until eventually, my own eyes are too heavy to keep open any more. 

As I slip into dreams of my own, I can’t help thinking about what could have been.   
And it occurs to me that Justin is right.   
The people who did that to him don’t belong in our lives, in this house, certainly not in this room.   
The only thing that belongs here is us.   
And we have enough of that to last a lifetime.


End file.
